When Nothing is Something
by MaryRoyale
Summary: Lucius Malfoy suspects that his wife Hermione is hiding something from him. Hermione's coworkers are worried about her, but she keeps saying that it's nothing. Sometimes 'nothing' is something. Lucius/Hermione. T for swearing.


_**The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition- Season 2 Round 9**_

_**Team:**__ Falmouth Falcons_

_**Author: **__MaryRoyale_

_**Position:**__ Beater #2_

_**Round 8 Challenge: **__This round, who you write about is completely up to your captain. (My beloved and darling captain knows I don't have an OTP so chose Lumione for me.) BEATER 2: Write about your character/pairing holding something back._

_**Title:**__ When Nothing is Something  
__**Official Disclaimer**__: The original characters of this story are the property of the J.K. Rowling. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. It is my contention that this work of fan fiction is fair use under copyright law. No monies received for receipt of this work. _

_**Prompts:**__ join, possible_

_**Pairing: **__Lucius Malfoy/Hermione Granger_

_**Rating:**__ T  
__**Word Count:**__ 2675_

_**A/N: **__As always whenever I write Lumione this one is for the ever-patient four. (At least I think she's patient? Maybe she's just given up on me…) I suppose this could be considered part of the "Should Have Been" universe if you want to pretend that it is. _

/\/\/\/\/\

Lucius Malfoy was a sneaky, cunning, manipulative bastard, or at least that's what all his friends told him. He supposed that they might be lying to him to soothe his ego, but he didn't think so. All of the Malfoys were excellent plotters; it was practically writ upon their DNA. There were others out there who knew how to plan and scheme to be sure, but there were very few on par with a Malfoy. Narcissa had never quite mastered the delicate intricacies of a solid plan with its multiple contingencies, but then again she was a Black. The whole family sneered at contingencies. Which might be why they were currently defunct, Lucius mused sardonically.

"Stop sulking," Theia Malfoy commanded imperiously from her portrait frame in Lucius' study.

"I am _not_ sulking," Lucius snarled at his mother's portrait.

One slender white-blonde brow rose imperiously as Theia gazed down coolly from her portrait. "Indeed," she sniffed. "What is the matter then? Why on earth are you scowling at that tumbler of Firewhiskey for the last three hours?"

Lucius glared at the amber-coloured liquid in the cut-crystal tumbler. Stupid Firewhiskey. Why did it have be the same colour as his wife's traitorous, betraying, back-stabbing eyes?

"Traitorous?" An indelicate, unladylike snort came from his mother's portrait, letting him know that he'd accidentally spoken his thoughts aloud. Again. "The girl positively adores you."

"She's hiding something from me," Lucius growled.

"Good," Theia pronounced. "It's about time one of the Malfoy women turned tables on you lot. I knew having her join our family was a good idea."

"Mother!" Lucius glared up at Theia Malfoy's portrait. She blinked her pale blue eyes innocently at him, and then smirked. "What? What is it? What do you know?"

"Me?" Theia attempted to look guileless and failed utterly. "I don't know what you mean, darling."

Lucius snarled a few rude words under his breath and stomped out of his study. He ignored the heavy sigh from his mother's portrait.

/\/\/\/\

Marriage to Lucius Malfoy had not been what Hermione had expected. Scratch that. Hermione had never—not even in her wildest, strangest dreams—expected to marry Lucius Malfoy. In fact, she still wasn't entirely certain how that had happened. When he put his mind to it Lucius Malfoy was like a force of nature, and he had set his sights on Hermione Granger. She couldn't put her finger on any one moment and say that it was at _that_ point that she knew she loved him. She just woke up one morning and realized that it was so. The two of them were surprisingly compatible. Both were well-read, intelligent, and driven. Even with all of that the proposal of marriage had shocked her.

In the dewy-eyed beginning of their marriage—the honeymoon phase Mrs. Weasley had called it—Lucius had laboured under the mistaken belief that Hermione would quit her job and become a society wife. He quickly realized that he had been horribly, horribly wrong. It had taken weeks for his left eyebrow to grow back properly. In the end he had declared magnanimously that Hermione might pursue any interests that she cared to do, and if that in included a full-time job at the Ministry then she had his full support.

So really, when one thought about it, the current situation was all Lucius' fault.

"Hermione, is there a special reason why you are muttering and nodding at the tea kettle?" Pansy Parkinson asked curiously. When Hermione shrieked and jumped in the air Pansy's dark eyes narrowed on her. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Hermione lied.

"Right," Pansy snorted. "Pull the other one then."

"What?" Hermione demanded irritably with one hand on her heart trying to calm its racing through sheer willpower alone.

"Something is bothering you," Pansy pointed out. "You're more skittish than a wounded Hippogriff." She smirked at Hermione. "And you might possibly be the worst liar ever."

Hermione glared at Pansy. "I don't like you."

"You adore me," Pansy countered blithely. "You sit up at night writing sonnets to my incomparable beauty whilst poor Mr. Malfoy gnashes his teeth in jealousy."

"I do not," Hermione protested. She grimaced at Pansy. "Do you have to call him that?"

"I, unlike some people, have not been given leave to use his given name," Pansy intoned loftily. Then she frowned at Hermione. "Honestly, what is bothering you?"

"It's nothing. Really," Hermione told Pansy earnestly. The other witch sighed, but she dropped the subject.

Most of the time Hermione believed that it was, indeed, nothing. The narrowed gaze of the Department Head's secretary every time Hermione approached to speak to Mr. Tanglehoof. The way conversation stopped whenever she entered the witches' washroom. The titters when she passed groups of gossiping witches and wizards in the hallways. Those were the sorts of things that Hermione Granger had grown used to years ago. Hermione Malfoy certainly wasn't about to let them bother her now.

Sometimes though, it was something. The bouquet of dead roses covered with maggots. The Hermione Granger War Heroine Action Figure that had been delivered with its head missing. The time that Hermione had been hurrying through Diagon Alley during a downpour and someone had shoved her brutally from behind into a puddle. She had been sure that it was merely water—Diagon Alley had cobblestone after all—but when she struggled to her feet she was covered in mud. Each instance by itself was an isolated example, but all together they made Hermione nervous.

"Malfoy," Tanglehoof bellowed from his office.

As Hermione passed by his secretary she noticed that the other witch was smirking in anticipation of a set down. She fought the urge to roll her eyes as she slipped into the Department Head's office.

"You called sir?" Hermione asked with a polite smile pasted on her lips.

Tanglehoof grunted in the affirmative. "Remember that House Elf initiative you wrote?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Yes sir. Madam Longbottom agreed to sponsor it before the Wizengamot. I put that in my report, sir."

"Madam Longbottom called in sick today. Something about food poisoning or some such nonsense," Tanglehoof continued with a scowl for the paperwork in front of him. "Somebody, somewhere, found out about that and they're trying to get the initiative put before the floor _today_."

"Oh no," Hermione whispered. If the initiative were not introduced by a respected member such as Augusta Longbottom they could kiss any and all support goodbye.

"Oh no is right, young lady," Tanglehoof growled. "I need to you to sprint down to the Wizengamot chambers with a deferral request. If we can get it in before they get theirs in we _might_ have a chance of saving this thing."

The House Elf initiative had been something that Hermione had been working on for years, really. During her 8th year at Hogwarts she had carefully interviewed every House Elf at Hogwarts. She had asked them what they wanted. She had asked them what made a position with a family good or bad. She asked them what they would like to see the wizarding world do differently. The initiative was the result of all of that—an honest attempt to improve the lives of House Elves and their relationship with wizarding Britain.

"Well?" Tanglehoof boomed at her. "What are you waiting for? Time's a-wasting, girl!"

Hermione jumped. "Oh! Yes sir! Sorry sir!" She tore out of his office and started digging through her desk. She knew she had a deferral request somewhere. "A-ha!" She cried triumphantly. When everyone in the office turned to stare at her she blushed furiously and bent her head over the form.

It was possible, Hermione reflected as she dodged people and flew as quickly as she could down hallways, that Hogwarts had prepared her for adulthood in more ways than one. The Ministry had been designed by someone for whom 'logic', 'ease of movement', and 'efficiency' were strange, unknown concepts. Perhaps several someones had tried their hand at designing the Ministry. If so the lot of them ought to be smacked, Hermione decided as she huffed up a flight of stairs so that she could descend 6 floors.

Finally, she reached the Wizengamot chambers and delivered her deferral request. It was time and date stamped and placed in the file for the House Elf Initiative. The wizard behind the window assured her that her paperwork had been received first and that the opponents of the Initiative hadn't turned in anything yet. With a sigh of relief Hermione turned and made her way back to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Without the pressure of turning her paperwork in Hermione moved sedately, allowing the flow of foot traffic to carry her along. Hermione's fingers sought out the ornate 'M' on a goblin-wrought silver chain that she wore about her neck, and she played with it absently as she waited for the people in front of her to move. Lucius had gifted it to her as a wedding present, and he always got this ridiculously smug smirk whenever she wore it. A small smile played about her mouth as she thought about how often she wore it just so she could see that smirk.

"Oh look," a snide voice cooed. "The ickle Mudblood is wearing an 'M' so we'll know what it is. Bless it; it's making our job easier."

"The mud on its robes would have been a good indication," another voice sneered.

Hermione looked up sharply, but she didn't recognize any of the people around her. From the difficulty she was having looking directly at them she suspected that they had used some sort of charm to conceal their identities. Panic gripped her as she realized that there were far too many of them for her to take on her own. There had to be at least ten of them. Her palms grew slick and she gripped her wand tightly.

"Hermione!"

Lucius' clipped tones had never been more welcome to her ears. She turned toward him automatically and watched the crowded hallway melt in front of him giving him a clear path to her. The strange wizards and witches who had been crowding her disappeared into the surrounding throng. Lucius frowned down at her.

"You're pale and shaking," he stated flatly. His gaze shifted and he tracked the crowd around them. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," she insisted. Black velvet rose up to meet her as she fainted. She thought she heard Lucius mutter 'bloody, buggering hell' under his breath, but she dismissed that as ridiculous. Lucius never used vulgar language.

/\/\/\/\

"I knew you were hiding something from me," Lucius announced triumphantly as soon as Hermione's eyelids fluttered. He would deny to his last breath the relief that had flooded him when he saw the clear, bright amber of those beloved eyes.

A small furrow appeared between her brows and she frowned up at him. "What?"

"You've been acting differently," he told her as he straightened the blankets around her.

"Where am I?" Hermione demanded as she looked around. She was obviously in a hospital room. The Ministry had a small clinic on-site, but this didn't look like the tiny office that she had seen on her new-hire tour.

"A private room at St. Mungo's," Lucius muttered.

"Why?" Hermione was honestly confused. She had fainted. Certainly that didn't require a private room at St. Mungo's.

"I was worried about you," Lucius admitted.

"It's never been… like that," Hermione protested.

Lucius frowned at her. "What was it like then?" He demanded.

The overprotectiveness of Lucius Malfoy was a thing that had to be experienced to be believed. At first, she had assumed that he was completely paranoid. Now she was willing to grant that he might, possibly, perhaps have a point. She sighed.

"I should have told you," she admitted.

"Damn right you should have!" Lucius' nostrils flared with suppressed rage. "If I ever find out who _dared _to threaten you…"

The door to her room opened and a plump, matronly-looking woman in Healer green bustled into the room. She beamed at Hermione. "You're awake! Excellent. Excellent. Now your husband insisted on a whole battery of testing so your right arm might be a bit sore. He had us do bloodwork for everything."

Hermione flushed. "Lucius," she hissed under her breath. The prat appeared to be utterly unrepentant. "I just fainted," she protested in a slightly louder voice.

The Healer gave her a sympathetic smile. "Not quite dearie."

"Is there something wrong with my wife's bloodwork?" Lucius demanded in a strained voice.

"Not… _wrong_," the Healer countered smoothly.

"But you're concerned." Lucius pounced on her verbal nuances.

The Healer snorted. "Not exactly, no."

"What did the tests say?" Hermione asked firmly.

The Healer beamed at her again. "You're pregnant, dearie. About six weeks along, if I'm any judge."

"Pregnant?" Lucius stared at the Healer with a gobsmacked expression that looked so out-of-place on his face that Hermione had to fight the urge to giggle. He turned to glare at his wife. "Did you know about this?"

"Well, of course I didn't know about it!" Hermione glared back at him. "If I had known I would have told you about the roses!"

"What roses?" Confusion flashed in Lucius' grey eyes.

"Never mind," Hermione snapped. She turned to the Healer. "Am I all right to leave? The... everything's fine and everything?"

"Oh yes, you're fine," the Healer agreed. "You'll need to make an appointment at the desk for check-ups, but aside from that you're free to go."

"Thank you." Hermione threw back the blankets and slid out of the bed.

"Wait!" Lucius put out his hands to stop her.

"Lucius, the Healer said that I'm fine," Hermione snapped. She batted at his hands ineffectually. "Honestly, if you think I'm going to put up with this for the next nine months you've lost what little sense you had."

"Hermione," Lucius growled.

"Lucius," she shot back.

"I'll just leave you two alone," the Healer murmured with an amused smile. The door clicked softly behind her.

"Your life has been threatened," Lucius pointed out.

Hermione sighed. "My life has been threatened on and off since I was 11," Hermione reminded him. "I assumed you already knew that."

"I knew," Lucius admitted. He rubbed his hand over his face. "For Merlin's sake I was responsible for-"

"No," Hermione argued. "We've gone over that Lucius. What was done is done. You were not responsible for your sister-in-law's actions. Certainly not when your son's life was being used as collateral."

"My son," Lucius repeated and stared at Hermione.

"Or daughter," she retorted sharply.

"A daughter," he whispered and an expression of awe softened his features. He frowned at his wife. "In future you will not hide things from me."

"I will do my best," she offered.

"I suppose that is the best that one can hope for," Lucius sighed dramatically.

Hermione snorted. "Just ask Harry or Ron," she informed him.

"I do not need Potter or Weasley to tell me how to deal with _my_ wife," Lucius retorted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Lucius had changed in so many little ways since the end of the war as he tried to find his way in post-war wizarding Britain. And yet, after all of that there were many ways in which Lucius had stayed the same. He was still an arrogant bastard. He was still cold, calculating and a little too controlling. Funnily enough, many of the same things had been said about her. She had been called arrogant at Hogwarts and at the Ministry. People who didn't know her had called her cold and calculating. People who did know her accused her of being controlling on a regular basis. They were well-matched when it came down to it. And now... now they were going to bring a life into the world.

"You're going to be absolutely ridiculous the entire time I'm pregnant, aren't you?" Hermione demanded.

Lucius gave a low chuckle. "You know me so well, my love."


End file.
